


So Darkness I became

by EllanaSan



Series: Tumblr Prompts [28]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon - Book, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, and it's the Hunger Games, blind effie, h doesn't kid around when it comes to protecting people he loves, hurt comfort, mentions of torture, post effie rescue, violence is kind of expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 10:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11206470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: Prompt: could write a FIC where Effie is temporarily blind?summary: Her eyelids wouldn’t open. Effie felt sluggish, her brain wouldn’t compute properly… She had a fever, she knew she had a fever… Or maybe it was a chill… Or… Infection. Yes. That was it. She had an infection.





	So Darkness I became

**Author's Note:**

> I was excited for this one :p The title is from Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine and be careful because there are some mentions of and references to torture.

Her eyelids wouldn’t open.

Effie felt sluggish, her brain wouldn’t compute properly… She had a fever, she knew she had a fever… Or maybe it was a chill… Or… _Infection_. Yes. That was it. She had an infection.

She was tired and weak but she needed to open her eyes. Even if she wouldn’t be able to see anything in the pitch black darkness, even if there was nothing for her to see…

She needed…

_The pain was gone…_

The absence of the familiar throbs and aches made her panic. Was she _dead_? Had her body finally given up? Had she…

She _needed_ to open her eyes.

Something was wrapped around her head, she realized, keeping them closed. Her right hand wouldn’t move either. It was trapped. Strapped against her chest and…

She wasn’t on the floor.

She wasn’t in her cell.

The smell wasn’t right.

The air wasn’t stale, she couldn’t smell herself anymore, couldn’t smell the waste and the stench from her injuries, couldn’t smell the rot and the decay of her own body dying day after day…

It smelt… _clean_.

Not _good_ but _clean_.

_Antiseptic_.

_Hospital_.

What had they done to her?

A machine started beeping like crazy next to her as her heart began racing in her chest. She wanted to cry. Badly. Why had they brought her to a hospital? Last time they had done that… _Peeta_ … But her memories seemed intact. Sluggish, yes, but _intact_.

What had they done to her?

Had they taken her eyes away?

Was it a new kind of torture?

Had they been experiencing on her?

Making her a mutt?

Would they put her eyes on giant dogs and set them on her friends like they had done in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games?

_Too pretty_ , Latson, her chief torturer, used to say¸ _maybe I should take them as a keepsake._  

She couldn’t breathe.

Her left hand wasn’t bound and she reached for her head, for the bandage around her eyes… She would tear it away, she would…

Fingers wrapped around her wrist before she could make contact and she screamed, weakly thrashing against that grip. She didn’t have enough strength to escape it.

“Sweetheart.” a voice cut in between her screams. “Sweetheart. _Effie_.”

Her scream turned into a sob but she swallowed it as best as she could.

That was the aim, then.

A new kind of torture.

Take her sight away and let her other senses betray her.

“I don’t know anything.” she whispered tiredly. Hadn’t they asserted that yet?  

There was a sharp intake of breath to her left. It sounded so much like _him_ that it hurt. Was he dead yet? From her cell, it didn’t seem like the rebels could win but she hoped. She hoped still. For the children’s sake and for his.

It didn’t matter that the guards kept repeating they would catch him and toss his corpse with her in her cell so she could _play_. The horrors they implied, the names they called her, the things they threatened to do to the two of them if they found him alive… None of that mattered.

She believed in him.

It was all she had left.

Even if he had given up on her, even if he had left her to die, even if he had betrayed her… She believed in him. She had always loved him more. It was fitting it would end this way. She comforted herself in the poetry of it: worthy of the greatest tragedies.

_Those violent delights have violent ends_.

She had quoted it to him once.

He hadn’t liked it.

He had never liked much of what she had to say anyway.

“Sweetheart, do you know who I am?” the man asked.

She wondered if they were using some sort of technology or if they had simply found someone who could impersonate him perfectly. Or maybe it was the drugs running in her system. Maybe…

“I don’t know anything.” she repeated.

Sometimes, she thought it would be the only words she would be able to utter ever again. She hadn’t talked to anyone in _so long_ … Her whole language was limited to those words nowadays.

“It’s alright, Effie…” he coaxed, gently bringing her left hand down to her side.

He didn’t let go though.

He trapped it between his, so warm, big and calloused just the right way…  Despite herself, she calmed down. She listened to the beeping of the machine slowing down to something more regular. It was some sort of drug, she decided. Someone could have imitated him but she would have known at a simple touch it wasn’t really him. The hands were right so her mind must have conjured them. 

“You’re safe now.” he lied. “I found you. I’m sorry it took so _fucking_ long… I tried… Been trying for _months_ …”

She almost snorted because _that_ was wrong. Haymitch wouldn’t care and he would certainly not _show_ it even if he did. But it was nice to hear so she remained silent.

She was desperate for the sound of his voice even if it was just an illusion. Even if…

“We won, sweetheart.” he said. “It’s over. We won.” He talked fast and his voice was rough. “The kids are… They’re safe. _Alive_.”

He lifted her hand and it took her a moment to realize what he was doing. She felt his lips on her skin, chapped, and the raspy feel of his stubble…

She snatched her hand away.

That was too much.

That was too… Too _real_.

He let out a round of broken chuckles that sounded entirely too bitter. “Right… You hate me. Won’t dispute that… You’ve got the right… For what it’s worth… I’m sorry. Without you, it’s been… It’s been…”

His voice trailed off to a stop.

She wondered if that was the aim. They had tried before. Turning her against him.

“You are wasting your time.” she slurred slowly. The words were difficult to find and they remained stuck on her tongue.

“Figured.” he sighed. “Look, I just… I just want to make sure you’re…”

She ignored him. Focused on getting the words out.

“I will _never_ hate him.” she hissed. “I don’t know anything. Go _fuck_ yourself. I don’t know _anything_.”

She had been dignified in the beginning. She had vowed to bear her fate like a true lady would.

The resolution had died down sometimes between the whip lashing out at her naked thighs and being locked in a cell so small she had had no choice but to soil herself more times than she could count.

“Effie?” He sounded alarmed. The mattress dipped next to her hip and she supposed he had sat on the bed. “Effie, it’s _me_.”

She felt his presence looming over her and she hated it. She hated it because instead of it being threatening, her treacherous body seemed to find it comforting. She took a deep breath to swallow the lump in her throat.

And it was when it hit her.

They were good certainly.

But not good enough.

“You got the smell wrong.” she mocked.

The man smelled nothing like Haymitch. Haymitch’s scent was unique to her. Plain soap – even in the Capitol with its myriad of products at his disposal, he always used the cheapest plain soap – faint sweat and liquor. Something so _Haymitch_ …

The man didn’t smell like liquor at all.

And that was the most obvious giveaway.

She waited for the blows.

She waited for the frustrated voices to call the game off.

She waited for the pain…

It never came.

Fingers were brushed against her cheek in a caress so familiar she could have _sworn_ …

“I’ve been underground for months.” he told her. “And I’m… I’m sober.”

She scoffed in disbelief.

Did they expect her to swallow _that_?

“What have you done to my eyes?” she asked.

It seemed important to ask somehow. Was she just blind or had her personal nightmare carved them out to bring back home in a jar? Had they just blindfolded her in hope this charade would work?

“You don’t remember?” he frowned. “When I carried you out of there… The doctor said you’ve been left in complete darkness too long. The light was too much for you. You screamed…”

Something was scratching at the back of her mind but she ignored it. It couldn’t be a memory. Her imagination, no doubt. How many times had she dreamed of Haymitch breaking down the door and taking her out of her cell? It wasn’t like him to be the knight in shining armor though. She had never needed a knight before either.

She would be…

No, she _wouldn’t_ be fine.

But she would cope.

Effie had always been good at coping.

“It’ll go away. You’ll be alright.” he promised. “They’re gonna take it off in a couple of days, I think… You’ve got dim lights in your room so you should be okay. It’s just so they can take care of you properly and you’re not in pain.” His hand left her cheek to trail down the side of her neck to the arm that was strapped. He didn’t touch her there though. “Your shoulder’s been dislocated for a while and set back wrong, they had to… You had surgery.” The hand ended up cradling her left one again. His thigh was hard under her wrist, the fabric of his pants was… frayed. She would never have let him run around in frayed pants. “They starved you, might take a while to correct that. You were dehydrated too, that’s what the drip is for.”

Drip.

She hadn’t even noticed the pinching in the crook of her elbow. It was such a small pain…

“You drugged me.” she accused.

She didn’t need him to list her injuries. She was well aware of her injuries.

“It’s just morphling.” he denied. “For the pain. Some of the wounds were… Not pretty.” Some of the wounds had been dripping pus well before they had tossed her in the dark cell. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure how she had survived that long. _Why_ she was still surviving. “You’ve got a couple of cracked ribs too so try to take it easy when you move.”

His thumb was running on her knuckles, back and forth.

She took her hand back and her little finger bumped into something hard and cold. She frowned a little and felt around for it.

She recognized the shape of the thing around his wrist.

_Flames_.

Cold flames.

It was the gold bangle.

His token.

_Her_ token.

She let go as if the flames had burned her for real and turned her head to the side.

The drugs may make it sound and look as if the man was Haymitch but the smell was wrong. And… If they had the bangle… Finnick had been in possession of it last. But Finnick had gotten out of the arena and…

Would he have given it back to Haymitch?

Would Haymitch have asked for it?

He had promised her it was only a loan when she had realized what he had done. He had promised and pecked her lips and told her to stop being so dramatic because it really wasn’t the right time for that.

“Is he dead?” she whispered.

“Who?” he asked, either confused or wary she wasn’t sure.

“Stop this game.” she snapped. “It is not working. I do not believe you. You are _not_ him. Is he _dead_?”

It was a stupid question, of course. She couldn’t trust anything they would say.

There was a soft noise – and she knew he had licked his lips, she knew, because the illusion was _so_ good, so _damn_ good – and then his voice again. Broken and rough once more.

“Sweetheart, you’re safe now.” he begged. “Ask me something… Ask me something only I know.”

“Something you may have tortured out of him or dug around in my brain for?” she snorted. “I know what you did to Peeta. I won’t make the mistake of trusting my own mind. I am not as stupid as I look.”

“Effie…” he pleaded.

“No.” she cut him off. “I am done playing now. I do _not_ know _anything_. There is no point to this aside for causing me grief and I _refuse_ to humor you. Get me back to my cell.”

“You’re _never_ going back to a cell as long as I breathe.” he growled.

“Suit yourself.” she huffed. “I won’t mind staying in a nice bed a little longer.”

She didn’t listen to anything else. She forced herself to think about something else, to mentally review the content of her walk-in closet from top shelf to bottom drawer to drown his voice. She ignored the tentative touch of her hand or face.

And, when she felt him stand up and leave, she bit down on her bottom lip.

It was only when she heard the soft click of the door being shut, presumably behind him, that she let out the shaky sob.

She couldn’t stop herself from crying. She was vaguely conscious of the dull pain in her chest but the morphling was taking care of that.

The bandage was wet when she finally calmed herself down.

She supposed it meant she still had eyes after all.

°°°

The next time she woke up, she was as disoriented as she had been the first time.

It took her a few minutes to remember where she was and she was really surprised to _still_ be there. Why hadn’t they dragged her back to the Capitol’s entrails yet? Why hadn’t they beaten her black and blue out of sheer frustration at her unwillingness to play their twisted games?

“Hey, sweetheart.”

She let out a long shaky breath.

This answered that, then. They hadn’t given up on the idea of torturing her yet.

“Is it you, Latson?” she asked, half wary and half cocky. She felt reckless. How she could feel reckless when she was lying drugged in a bed given that she cowered when she was free in a room was anyone’s guess but she felt _reckless_. Maybe she had finally reached her point of no return. Maybe she wanted to goad them into ending it. Maybe…

“Who’s that?” Haymitch’s voice asked, tired and annoyed.

There was a sloshing sound.

“Paying attention to details this time, are we?” she retorted. “What does the flask looks like?”

“More bumps and scratches than when you gave it to me.” he snorted. “Otherwise, pretty much the same. There’s a _T_ on one side.”

The metal was warm when he guided it in her hand, as if he had been holding it for hours. The crafted silver was familiar. It _was_ her grandfather’s flask, the one she had gifted him wurg because her mother had been about to sell it or throw it away and she hadn’t been able to bear the thought. He hadn’t taken to the present kindly at first but he had come around in time and… He usually carried it around. Even when he had been bent on rationing his liquor to the minimum for the children’s sake… She was certain he had been carrying it the last time she had seen him.

So they had the bangle _and_ the flask.

Her heart sank in her chest.

“I thought you were supposed to be sober.” she remarked.

“Yeah, well…” he snorted. “Wasn’t working out for me.” He gently pried the flask from her fingers and she heard the sloshing sound again, she listened to him swallowing a long gulp. Then his fingers closed around hers. She knew it wasn’t Haymitch. She knew. But she couldn’t help herself. Her body wanted to cave to his touch and it brought her comfort to pretend. “Coin did something bad. _Really_ bad. Heavensbee was in on it. And Beetee.”

“You don’t say.” she deadpanned. “Is it when I am supposed to fully embrace the Capitol’s cause and confess all my secrets? I will save you some time. I do not know _anything_. Haymitch _never_ told me anything.”

“Maybe there’s no good cause.” he muttered bitterly. “Maybe it should be just you and me and the kids against the world.”

“That was always my sentiment.” She tried to shrug and groaned when pain slashed through her right shoulder.

“Easy.” he immediately said. “They reduced the painkillers. They thought maybe that was what was making you confused.”

“Oh, is that the plan, then?” she asked, entirely disinterested. “Reducing the morphling slowly until the pain comes back? It is _awfully_ elaborate for you, Latson… You are usually more… _straightforward_.”

Whips and knives and fists and wires around her neck…

A laugh that sounded like a bark…

Crazy spark in his dark eyes…

He got off on causing pain.

It was a game to him, a sport… A nice distraction at the end of a tiring day. He had long stopped asking questions when he came to play, or perhaps once in a while to keep up appearances. Nobody talked to her anymore. She was _nothing_. She was almost not sentient to them. Little less than a punching-bag.

“Who’s Latson?” he asked again. She sighed and his fingers briefly squeezed hers. “Tall? Brown hair? Mustache? Head Peacekeeper?”

“Very ugly.” she added, in the hope of aggravating him into betraying himself. She wanted this game to end. It was far too painful.

 “Yeah, that one’s dead.” he told her. “He had your lighter. That’s how I knew you were there.”

She couldn’t quite care where her lighter was even if it was a gift from Finnick.

“Of course.” she humored him.

“Wouldn’t shut up.” he grumbled as if he hadn’t heard her. His fingers were shaking a little. “Kept talking about you. Kept calling you a bitch. _My_ bitch. I couldn’t take it anymore, yeah? _The_ _things_ he said…”

“I am your favorite toy.” she reminded him bitterly.

“Stop.” he spat, letting go of her hand. His fingers came back quickly though, wrapped around hers again and lifted them to his cheek, to the familiar feel of his stubble – not quite though, more like an unkempt beard. “I’m not _him_. I’m me. I’m _fucking_ me. Sweetheart…” She clenched her jaw. “He said he peed on you.” he whispered, sounding horrified. As if it was the worst that had been done to her.

It had been humiliating certainly.

But it hadn’t been the worst.

At least it hadn’t hurt anything but her pride.

“I was thirsty.” she said flatly.

A sharp intake of breath and his fingers clenched around hers so tightly it hurt a little. She didn’t say anything though. What was the point?

“I slit his throat.” he claimed in a dangerous growl. “I slit his _fucking_ throat. _Slowly_. He didn’t die quick _or_ clean.”

A chill ran down her spine.

There was something primitive in his voice, something… _feral_.

Was it supposed to comfort her, this lie? To make her believe in this game? To make her forget just how insidious the Capitol could be?

“Plutarch was angry.” he added, almost as an afterthought. She wondered if he was drunk. He sounded a little buzzed. “Like he doesn’t have blood on his hands. Like he didn’t…” She felt him shake his head under her palm. “I killed him. He won’t _ever_ touch you again.”

“Haymitch would never kill anyone given the choice.” she countered. There was a touch of uncertainty to her voice though. _Wouldn’t he?_ He had always warned her that the arena had changed him. That…

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt my family.” he retorted. “I’ll kill again if I have to.”

It was almost a challenge. To what or whom, she didn’t know.

“I am not Haymitch’s family.” she objected.

“Like hell, you’re not.” he scoffed. There was a pause and then a shift of air. It took her a second to realize he was moving, _leaning_ _forward_. His forehead was pressed against her cheek, hair tickled her temple… The smell, this time, was right. So _him_ she almost choked. “I missed you.” he murmured awkwardly. “I missed you so _fucking_ much. It was like I couldn’t _fucking_ breathe.”

“I miss you.” she confessed, giving in to the fantasy for a second. “I wish… I wish you were real. _So badly._ I wish…” She turned her head a little, pressing her cheek against his forehead. “I wish I could see you one more time before I…”

“I’m _right_ _here_.” he snarled. “The _fuck_ do I need to do to convince you?”

His nose bumped against her jaw, his lips brushed against hers…

“No!” She turned her head away, the machine beeping in earnest as panic flooded her. She wouldn’t give them _that_. She _wouldn’t_. They hadn’t taken that away from her yet, she had been too dirty and too broken to be appealing, but now… Now she smelled clean and she didn’t feel so broken and… She wouldn’t give _that_ up so easily. She wouldn’t… She…

“Calm down.” he demanded, hands closing on her arms as she thrashed against him. “I’m sorry, Effie. _Calm_ _down_.”

She head the door being opened and then noises, voices, questions, recriminations…

Then a needle in her neck and a cocoon of darkness.

°°°

The constricting bandage around her head was gone.

She blinked her eyes open slowly.

It was dark but not as dark as in her cell. Not _ink_ dark more like… A _light_ dark.

It still smelt like antiseptic and she was still in a bed. She sat up, not quite able to see properly. There were shapes in the dark room though and dots of red and green to her right. _Machines_ , her brain supplied. She didn’t look at them too long. The dots hurt her eyes. It made her dizzy.

The shape to her left moved and she startled badly, gasping hard, her left hand feeling around for _something_. Not that anyone would be stupid enough to leave a weapon within reach.

“Finally.” a familiar voice said. “You took your _fucking_ time.”

“Johanna.” she breathed out, peering at the thicker blot of darkness. She couldn’t see properly. The shape was human, yes. But she couldn’t tell if… “This is another trick.”

Boots were placed on the edge of the mattress as the shape slouched deeper in the chair. Effie had the feeling it was studying her but she couldn’t tell. Her sight was _bad_. The more she tried to focus, the more she felt a headache beginning to take hold right behind her eyes.

“Haymitch’s in a state.” Johanna said.

“Haymitch is dead.” she whispered.

It was the only logical conclusion.

They had his bangle and his flask.

“Haymitch’s sitting with Katniss right now, trying to convince everyone he’s not about to lose it.” the victor claimed. “You need to wake the _fuck_ up, Trinket.”

“Stop drugging me.” she hissed back.

Johanna’s familiar snickering echoed in the room. “Well, if that’s what you want…” Hands grabbed her good arm. There was a sharp pain at the crook of her elbow. The drip was gone. She didn’t know what Johanna – or the would-be Johanna – was doing but five minutes later the victor sighed in contentment. “Don’t tell Haymitch I stole your morphling.”

“I don’t know anything.” she whispered. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“’Cause we’re not them.” Johanna shrugged. At least she thought the shape shrugged. “This is real. Get your _fucking_ head out of your _fucking_ ass and _wake up_. ”

“I do not understand what is the point of this game…” she begged. “I have no information. I have…”

“There’s no point. There’s no _fucking_ game.” Jo grumbled. “They took the Capitol. Katniss got herself blown up to smithereens. I’ve seen her, it’s not pretty.”

“Katniss?” she repeated.

“Haymitch doesn’t want to tell you _shit_.” Johanna snorted. “Doesn’t want to upset you. The doc said you needed rest so he’s coddling you. You don’t need coddling, you need to get your _shit_ together.”

“Katniss.” she insisted. “He said she was alive.”

“She is.” the victor confirmed. “Barely. They’ve got her in a tank or something. She’s burned.”

“No.” She shook her head. “She _has_ to be fine. She’s…”

“Not out of the woods.” Johanna cut her off. “And Haymitch’s _losing_ it. He’s back on the booze.”

“None of this is real.” she hesitated.

“Finnick’s dead.” Jo told her with purposeful detachment. Or maybe that was the morphling talking. “Katniss’ sister too. Peeta… They did a number on him.”

“They rewrote his memories.” she confirmed. “I saw.”

“You were gone by that point.” Johanna said with something akin to guilt. “When they came for us… I told them to look for you but… I didn’t know where you were. There wasn’t time.”

“They moved me out of the Center after they were sure Peeta was…” she mumbled. “I heard about the rescue. The guards were talking about it. The guards there… The Head Peacekeeper of the prison… Latson…”

“The asshole’s dead.” the victor said quietly. “Haymitch took care of it. From what I heard, he’d have killed them all if you hadn’t been in such a bad state. He took you out of there and back to the Games’ clinic.”

“Is that where we are?” she frowned. Once more, she tried to decipher the shapes in the darkness but it was too painful and, in the end, she closed her eyes. Her body had been numb every time she had woken up but it felt _alive_ now. Throbbing and aching in familiar places…

“Yeah.” Jo confirmed. “Katniss is at the Mansion’s hospital though. VIP and all that _shit_.” The victor sighed. “Look, he won’t tell you but you’re not safe yet. The rebels have been making mass arrests. Anyone involved in the Games at one point or another… Victors have immunity but…”

“Is this a ploy to convince me rebels are bad?” she asked. “Because _I do not care_. I do not care who is right or wrong. I just want…”

She wanted to be safe.

To keep her family, her _team_ , safe.

“It’s not wrong to have those bastards arrested.” Johanna sneered. “I’m hoping they shoot them too. There are talks about trials but they don’t deserve that much.”

Her mind was slowly clearing.

“I am an escort.” she pointed out.

“Finally catching up?” the victor chuckled. “Haymitch’s trying to get you off the hook. Heavensbee’s helping.”

“What are _you_ doing?” she asked.

“I’m on guard duty.” Jo snorted. “Making sure nobody arrests you while Haymitch’s taking care of our Mockingjay. You’ve got your head out of your ass yet?”

Her shoulder was throbbing hard and the familiar pressure on her ribcage was back. It was faint for now but the pain was there. An old friend that had kept her company all this time in her cell. It was helping in a way the painkillers had not.

“May I touch your face?” she asked.

She was fairly certain the drugs had cleared off enough that she would be able to tell real from fake now. If it was only someone _posing_ as Johanna…

“Buy me a drink first.” Jo cackled but guided her good hand to her face.

The features _were_ Johanna’s.

At least she thought so.

She wanted to believe.

She wanted to believe _so_ _badly_.

She slid down the bed instead, mindful of her ribs and of her shoulder, and she closed her eyes.

She didn’t know what to think.

It was easier not to think at all.

She heard the door opening after a while and a quiet female voice. She heard the nurse getting angry at Johanna – probably about the morphling theft – and chasing her out of the room. When the nurse grabbed her arm, Effie’s eyelids flew open and she tried to take it back.

“No.” she said.

She still couldn’t see much more than a vague human shape.

“It’s alright, dear.” the nurse hummed with practiced professional kindness. “You’re absolutely safe.”

“No painkillers.” she insisted. “Please.”

The shape betrayed a small gesture of surprise. She sounded like she was frowning. “You must be in pain.”

“No drugs.” she repeated. “I can deal with the pain. Please, no drugs.”

“I need to ask the doctor.” the nurse sighed. “Regardless of morphling, I need to put the drip back in. It’s here to keep you hydrated and fed.”

She shook her head, tears burning her eyes. “Can you… Please, can you get Haymitch? Haymitch Abernathy. He will… I do not want the drugs. I…”

“Don’t work yourself up, dear.” the nurse chided her.

But she _did_ work herself up, she pushed the woman away when she tried to put the needle in and she jumped off the bed in an ill-thought-out attempt at escaping.

She wasn’t sure if she fell because she couldn’t see anything or because her legs wouldn’t carry her.

Her shoulder hit the floor and the agonizing pain was enough to make her black out.

°°°

She woke up to blinding light.

She groaned and tried to curl up but pain flared up her ribcage and she was left with no other recourse than shutting her eyes tight and hope it would go away.

“I’m gonna kill Johanna.”

“Haymitch?” she asked.

A long heartbeat passed before she felt his hand covering hers. “Yeah.”

She was lucid.

That was her first real thought.

Her mind wasn’t sluggish like the drugs made it.

She felt lucid.

“You asked for me.” he hesitated.

“I did.” she confirmed.

“The nurse said you freaked out over the drugs so… I told them not to give you any more.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I can have them hook you up again if…”

“No.” she refused. “I… I need to be _me_.”

“Alright.” he caved easily.

She tentatively opened her eyelids but the light was still blinding. “Can you turn that off? It is too strong.”

“It’s dimmed, sweetheart.” he denied. “I can barely see _shit_. They want you to slowly get used to it again.”

_Dimmed_.

The light didn’t look dimmed.

It felt like staring straight at a spotlight.

“It hurts.” she begged.

“It’ll get better.” he promised. His hand was hesitant when it came to rest on her forehead. When she didn’t shrug it away, he let it slid to her hair. She could tell it was probably an unsalvageable mess but he petted it slowly all the same. “Do you believe I am who I am?”

“I don’t know.” she offered honestly. “But I am so tired of fighting… I miss you too much…”

She was getting used to the light, she realized.

It wasn’t so blinding anymore. Just light darkness.

She couldn’t see very well but it was enough for her to spot colors.

The white of the walls…

The blue of his woolen sweater…

His face was blurry.

She reached for it, feeling the familiar features under her fingertips… She rested her head against his forearm as he kept petting her hair and she breathed in the smell of him.

Her body immediately relaxed and maybe it was an instinctive response she needed to _trust_.

Maybe if her mind was playing tricks on her, her body on the other hand…

“Haymitch…” she murmured.

She couldn’t quite see properly but she thought he was smirking.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“I love you.” she said in a rush.

She had been mulling over that for months. Not telling him. She knew had she said the words, he would have stormed out or dismiss them with a cutting remark. She knew the words would send him into a panic. _She_ _knew_.

But she was selfish and she needed those words off her chest even if she never uttered them again.

He didn’t answer.

She hadn’t expected him too.

But when his mouth crashed on hers, she didn’t fight it either.

Some things didn’t need to be heard or seen to know they were real.


End file.
